10 Things About Gabrielle Delacour
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: For the HPFCs forum. I'm doing them all in separate chapters before you get confused :
1. She Was Part Veela

**1. ****She is part Veela.**

Of course, Gabrielle had no idea of her heritage when she was younger.

She didn't often admire her reflection, much unlike her elder sister, who spent a great deal of her time (and everyone elses bathroom time) flaunting herself in front of the lifesize mirror in their bathroom. Everything was all about attractiveness and perfectly groomed looks to Fleur, but Gabrielle didn't really see the point. Until she started her school life at Beauxbatons.

The first time she realised something was wrong with her, was when she was skipping to a Potions lesson in her first year, and a third year boy grabbed her by her sky-blue shoulder cape. "You are so beautiful!" He cried in awe; he was practically sobbing. "Why are you so beautiful?" It was all Gabrielle could do not to yell out in shock, wondering if he were going to hurt her, or if he was just joking with her, insulting her. He was older, after all, and Gabrielle was so...uneducated in the mysteries of boys and their feelings.

It was only when she got home in the Christmas break, when she confronted her mother about it.

This was also the only time, that Gabrielle really, truly noticed Apolline Delacour for what she was.

Her silvery hair hung down to her waist. She usually tied it back in a thick, tight plait, but when she was relaxing at home it was all free. Her eyes, wise, wide and blue, were tainted only by the slightest of ageing lines, and her lips were full and rosy.

"Gabrielle, _bien-aimée_, eet haz been a while, 'as it not?"

"Mummy."

"_Oui_?"

"Boys chase me."

Apolline smiled her wonderful, entrancing smile. "Ov course z'ey do, Gabrielle. You are beautiful. What iz there not to chase?" She laughed. It was a sound that could make birds burst into song.

"No," Gabrielle struggled with her words. "They chase me _all the time_, and compliment me all the time, but...their eyes are strange. Foggy. A boy in ze fourth year nearly fell from ze tower, trying to call out to me."

Apolline gave a sigh, and so explained the situation to Gabrielle. Explained the terminoligy of "veela", explained why she was so..._radiant_, explained that she would more often than not have boys flocking around her like birds to nest. Maybe she could take to it as Fleur did, Apolline wondered.

"I don't _want _boys chasing me," Gabrielle mumbled. "I'm only eleven."

Apolline had stroked the back of Gabrielles head, mutterred something in low French, and left her place, leaving Gabrielle to mull over in peace.


	2. She Had An Irrational Fear Of Food

**1. As a toddler, she had an irrational fear of food. **

_Sitophobia _was not the word that rang through Monsieur and Apolline Delacour's minds, when their two year old daughter simply would _not _take a bite of a single morsel of solid food. She wanted to be still on her mothers breast, or happily sedated with a bottle. It was greatly worrying to her parents, greatly _endearing _because of the horrific tantrums Gabrielle would throw, should she not get what she wanted. Milk.

They tried everything. They blended food in the mixing machine, put it in a bottle, but Gabrielle wasn't stupid. The first time they did that, she flung the bottle halfway across the kitchen, until it hit the cat square in the face.

They never did see that cat again.

But back to the situation.

Hypnosis was her father's idea. "Hypnotise 'er into enjoying real food," he insisted. Apolline thought it a stupid and ridiculous idea, but they went through with it anyway.

The 'hypnotist' was a tall, gaudy, entirely homosexual man. He was African-American, with heavy amounts of make-up pasted onto his eyelids and lips, and long, false eyelashes stuck over his own. Apolline noticed, with slight disgust, that he had a very well-done reverse French manicure as well - the tips painted black instead of white. He smiled widely when the Delacour's strolled into his tent - he had so clearly just struck _gold_. Delacour was a rich, very well off bloodline.

"_Bonsoir_, Monsieur," he shook Monsieur Delacour's hand, his head bowed. "Mademoiselle," he took Apolline's small hand in both of his and kissed it. For a good four seconds. "Call me Charles."

"You're English?" Monsieur asked, ready to blame the hypnotists social and mental descent on the entire English race.

"American, _bien-aimée_."

Saying no more, they got down to buisness. Charles was adamant he could fix Gabrielle's problem, but even then, with her brain very much unenducated and immature, she glowered up at him. "I assure you, Monsieur, your daughter will be eating everything in sight in no time."

Of course, they believed him. He waved a pendant in front of Gabrielles face for a few minutes, but after she became entranced by the tilting object, she grabbed out at it, and stuffed it straight into her mouth. Charles tried putting her to sleep, and whispering incantations into her ear, telling her that she _would _eat normal food, she would _never _want to look at a bottle again, but Gabrielle landed her small fist on Charle's head. "Bad girl," she shouted, right in his face. Charles groaned, and moved onto plan C.

"This will cost you five-hundred-and-fifty euros, if you want my..._full_...performance." Charles' face split into a wide grin.

Apolline couldn't help but wonder what on _earth _Charles did in his spare time.

But nevertheless, they wanted their baby fixed. So Monsieur Delacour wrote the cheque, and Charles stuffed it into his pocket, and took Gabrielle into another section of the tent. There was a lot of shouting, strange words, and a loud _pop_.

"Mummy?" Gabrielle's voice sounded.

Apolline darted through the folds of the tent, and looked around, spotting her daughter, sitting alone on the floor of the tent. The hypnotist had completely vanished.

"Apparated!" Yelled Monsieur Delacour. "Apparated with my _money_! Fraud! Theif! I will call someone right now."

But before Monsieur Delacour could reach for his cellphone device, both parents were startled by a crunching sound. Looking down, Gabrielle was chewing on a chocolate biscuit, admiration and delight painted on her face.


	3. She Pretended To Be Gay For a Whole Year

**3. She pretended to be gay for a whole year.**

Up until her fourteenth birthday, boys shied away from her, snarling.

It didn't take her long to realise she could _not _go through with the embarrassment of lying to herself.


	4. She Sold Her Body, Once

**4. She sold her body, once.**

When Gabrielle struck the prime age of seventeen, she'd left school, but her parents wished her to take further education, rather than marrying herself off, like Fleur had done so suddenly. So Gabrielle left for a wizarding University in the USA, with her pretty head full of ideas and fancies of what subjects she wanted to take, and what her further education grades could achieve her in the bigger world.

She was fine and fresh as she strolled into the grounds, tall, well-sculptured, with her waist-length silvery hair piled on top of her head in an elegant up-do. By this age she had taken tips from her grandmother, her mother, and her sister, and dressed to kill. Men and women admired her from the sidelines as she sauntered confidently across the long pathway to the main building, dresed in a knee length pencil skirt that reached her knees, yet it had a slit in the back so high you could see the tops of her pantyhose when she walked. Gabrielle was never one for stilletos, so she had ignored Fleur's offer on her ridiculously high shoes, and settled for her own pair of Sunday-best black kitten heels. Her waist was clenched in with a large belt, and the top button of her crisp white shirt was open. The bright red blazer she was wearing looked like expensive material to the other students, yet she had folded up the sleeves to her elbows so scruffily, that it didn't look like she minded about the price of vanity.

It was, literally, just the vanity that she cared about.

She was definitely noticed first by _that _crowd.

One day, a man in his early twenties, several years older than her, slid a peice of paper on her desk after a History of Magic lecture. She had arched her delicate eyebrows at him, but he had just winked and walked away. He was a strange looker, with his dyed black hair spiked up, and wearing some ridiculous band t-shirt. _He's not worth your time of day_, is what her sister would have said. Gabrielle smiled to herself, thinking of Fleur, and simply shredded the unread note with her finely manicured fingertips.

She managed to hold up her magnificent role as the Untouchable, for a long time. Gabrielle wasn't easy, which she proved, kissing and missing boys as they came and went. She wasn't going to settle in a relationship _here_, when she was trying to be educated. Gabrielle just wanted to have fun.

But to have fun in most circumstances, one needs _money_. Especially in a place such as America.

Her parents had sent her money for some months, but they had begun to shorten their amounts recently, telling Gabrielle that it was time to get a job. She would be eighteen soon, after all.

"Gabrielle, are you coming out tonight?"

"Yeah, everyone wants to see you let loose."

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"I, no, sorry," was Gabrielle's reply, every weekend. Her schoolfriends would sigh and flap their hands at her, telling they'd pay for a few drinks, but Gabrielle would be idignant. "No! I don't _need _money! I have perfect-" but they'd be already gone.

Except one evening, the dark-haired man she'd been confronted by so many months ago, stayed behind. He stuck one hand out at her, the other one in his pocket. He grinned widely at her. Each one of his teeth seemed to be sharpened to points. Gabrielles eyes lingered on the Weird Sisters tour t-shirt he was wearing, as she tried not to make eye contact. She shook his hand grimly.

"Nathaniel Everton."

"Gabrielle-"

"I already know your name." He grinned that sadistic grin once more.

"What do you want from me?"

"I know how you can make money." He narrowed his eyes, and his smirk widened. "Just once, a lot of money."

Gabrielle knew, then and there, that he mother would _kill _her should she find out.

But she went through with it anyway. Just once. Just the once.


	5. She Fell In Love With An English Muggle

**5. She Fell In Love With An English Muggle**

She was fourteen, and he was in his late thirties. He never knew her, never even knew she existed.

The first time she laid eyes on him was on Christmas evening, she was sent to bed to get some rest before the day ahead. Instead of hitting the pillow, Gabrielle took to the window, her fingers splayed across the glass as she stared out into the starry sky.

Maybe to catch a glimpse of Santa? She smiled to herself. Gabrielle knew such things didn't exist, even when she was a lot younger, and she caught her father pressing coins under her pillow after her tooth had fallen out. No, Gabrielle just wanted to stare out into the night, and wish...

Her eyebrows furrowed when she heard an irratatingly low creak of the oak door of the public house opposite her home. An older man, wearing a clean-cut suit and fixing his tie with one hand, left the house, waving at someone Gabrielle couldn't see inside, and wishing them a Merry Christmas. He didn't big the goodbye in French, though, and his accent was very distinctive. An Englishman.

Gabrielle didn't know what it was that drew her to this man, but in those few weeks of Christmas holidays, she learnt about him. She knew when he left for work, freshly shaven, wearing a crisp white shirt and a perfectly ironed suit, his greying hair slicked back, shoes shining. She knew when he'd walk past for his lunchbreak, to sit in the public house and buy the same dinner daily; a seeded-breadcrust lettuce and cheese sandwich, and a tall glass of orange juice. She knew when he'd be coming home from work, his hair falling out of it's smoothed style, his shirt unbuttoned at the tie, sweat beading on his forehead, a small smile on his slightly lined face.

But she never knew his name.

And he never, ever knew hers.


	6. The First Time She Saw Her Mother Cry

**6. The First Time She Saw Her Mother Cry...**

Was when Fleur went to the Weasley's for Christmas instead of coming home. Apolline Delacour never expected her beautiful daughter to become infatuated with someone as scruffy and low-looking as Bill Weasley.


	7. Everyone Thought She Was A Squib

**7. Everyone Thought She Was A Squib**

Gabrielle didn't show that she had any blood of a witch in her body until she was ten. Her family were beginning to wonder if she'd been born a squib.

But then, one breakfast morning suprised them all. Fleur was home from Beauxbatons for the holidays, so she was joining the dinner table. She was pointing her spoon at Gabrielle, a smirk evident on her porcelean features.

"When are you going to do mag'eek, eh, Gabrielle? You von't get accepted to Beauxbatons." She dunked her spoon back into her cereal, while Gabrielle clenched her fists under the table, and stared down at her empty bowl.

"Don't be silly, Fleur," their mother hushed. "Of course Gabrielle will get accepted."

"But why would z'ey accept a _muggle_?" Fleur let out some kind of shrill cackle, that none of them had ever heard escape the older sisters mouth before. Even she looked suprised.

"I'm not a muggle!" Gabrielle piped up.

"Prove eet!" Fleur shot back. Apolline slammed her fork down on the table.

"Enough!"

But Gabrielle hadn't had enough. She stared and stared and stared at her older sister, hate and fury pouring out of her like a toxic gas, until-_BOOM!_

Fleur screamed. All her hair was falling out, into her breakfast.


	8. She Volunteered To Be Fleur's Treasure

**8. She volunteered to be Fleur's "treasure"**

She really wanted to go to England, and more so she really wanted to visit Hogwarts! She'd heard of all the stunning English boys and their charms, and she wanted to do something impressive and exciting. She was young, she was naive, and when Madame Maxime spoke of merpeople and singing and underwater villages she was beyond herself with excitement. She was expecting the mermaids of myth, pretty sirens with long flowing hair and glistening tails, smooth porcelain skin and jewellery made from sea shells and pebbles. She dreamed of becoming friends with these wonderful creatures, to be able to visit the sea and interact with these women.

She was not expecting the hostile fish of the lake. Horrible, green tinged skin and razor sharp teeth, hissing, speaking in a language she couldn't understand, hair lank and ugly. Sure, they had the pretty jewellery and the voices of angels but the underwater village was nothing impressive, and the three-pronged weapon jabbing her throat as she began to fall asleep was not very kind, either. As she felt herself drifting out of consciousness, she began to regret agreeing to be the thing that Fleur had lost.


End file.
